Lost it All
by Ali Nowac
Summary: What if Haytham was there? What if he watched that building crumble down and cover Ziio? What if he watched her die right there in front of him just like he'd watched his father die?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hello! This is my first time attempting to write an Assassin's Creed story, but seeing as I just recently started playing AC3, I've decided to write a little AU because I saw a picture on Tumblr where someone brought up this idea about 'if Hayt****ham was there when the village burned?'.  
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**I have NO idea whatsoever if I wrote Haytham right, but eh whatever I've decided to take a chance and share this. PLEASE review and tell me what you think! I do not own Assassin's Creed or any of these characters if I did many things would be different, but I don't. **

**Enjoy! Thank you! **

**Lost it All**

His horse plodded on through the forest, his thoughts wandering towards Ziio as they always did when he came near to Mohawk Valley. Usually the birds were chirping and he'd concentrate on their song rather than on the memories. This time, there were no birds and there was a stale scent on the air. Everything within him froze. Curling into the air was a staircase of dark smoke. In the distance he could hear them; screams of anguish.

Haytham Kenway spurred his horse into a gallop, leaning over the saddle as they plunged through the forest. Sparks fell through the air and the smoke clogged his throat, causing him to gag. He broke through into the village, leaping off his horse. Men, women and children were running every which way, trying to find loved ones and a way out. The fire crackled, feeding at their homes and on their flesh. In the distance he could hear a child screaming.

_Ista! _

The word wasn't familiar to him, but the pain it was wailed in was. He broke into a run, the heat searing his skin. He covered his mouth with his arm, trying not to breathe in too much smoke. Rounding the corner, the scene stopped him in his tracks. A child of four was struggling to list the boards of the burning home from a woman. Even with the blood splattered across her face and her braided hair disheveled, Haytham knew who she was.

_Ziio_.

She said something to the child, the language unfamiliar to him and then their eyes met. Hers: dark brown and anguished; his: greyish blue and widened. Her lips mouthed his name but he couldn't hear it, all he could hear was the cracking above her as another Mohawk rushed passed Haytham and grabbed the child, pulling him away.

The child struggled, screaming but Ziio was looking at Haytham and Haytham at her. She reached out to him and he broke from his stupor. He ran towards her as the roof over her broke and crashed down all around her. He skidded backwards as flames jutted up from the wreckage. Something slipped from his lips - he thought it was her name, though it could have been a noise of broken pain - and his knees trembled.

Something broke within him. He stumbled away, the child's screams echoing all around him. Another fire awoke in his mind, the one that burned his own home to the ground after the five mercenaries broke in and murdered his father right in front of him. He remembered shoving a fallen sword into his father's murderer's eye. He remembered the sick pleasure that had filled him as the body slumped to the ground, the same way his father's had.

Now, there was no one to kill, just the child screaming and the flames dancing tauntingly before him. He stumbled again, coughing on smoke, his eyes stinging. The kid was still being dragged away. "Wait!" the word left him before he could hold it back. The bald Mohawk male narrowed his eyes. "Wait," Haytham said again, walking closer, holding his hands up in a non hostile way.

He kneeled down before the child and it looked up at him. His dark hair was all his mother's, falling into his eyes, a few strands braided together. He had his mother's eyes and the same defiant set to his chin. However, the curve of his lips and his little nose belonged to another family: the Kenways. There was no doubt in Haytham's mind that this child was his. His _son_.

He looked up at the other male, who was watching him warily. "He's mine," said Haytham hoarsely. "He is my son." The Mohawkian looked between the child and the Brit. Haytham knew he could see the resemblance. The child broke from the other's hold and fell against Haytham's chest, his little arms wrapping around his father's neck and his face fitting into the fold of the older's neck. His little body shook with his grief and slowly Haytham stood, looping an arm around the little child's body.

Another building fell into itself and the Mohawk met Haytham's eyes. "Take care of him. He is Ratonhnhake:ton." Then the other male turned and ran off to escape the blaze.

Haytham looked down at the small child in his arms, unable to pronounce the kid's name. He pulled him closer, sheltering him from the heat of the flames and cruelty of the world as he hurried back to his horse. He pulled himself into the saddle and sent one last look in the direction of the hut where he'd found Ziio and then turned his steed around and galloped out of the burning town, leaving behind the memory and the screams.

**Final A/N: I may or may not have started on writing a full story based on this. Depending on how this goes in the next few weeks I may post the continuation entitled NOBODY'S HERO. Again, please review, it'll help me write faster.**


	2. Update!

**Hello everyone! If you hadn't noticed, I'm continuing the story I started in Lost it All. It's called Nobody's Hero ( s/10925425/1/Nobody-s-Hero) and I'm very excited to share it all with you! If you liked Lost it All, I sincerely suggest checking out the continuation! **


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